“My desires can no longer deal with this mixture of life and death in which eternity daily rots. Weary of the future, I have traversed its days, and yet I am tormented by the intemperance of unknown thirsts. Like a frenzied sage, dead to the world and frantic against it, I invalidate my illusions only to irritate them more. This exasperation in an unforeseeable universe—where nonetheless everything repeats itself—will it never come to an end? How long must I keep telling myself: ‘I loathe this life I idolize?’”
— Cioran, A Short History of Decay (1949)
